<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>To Be A Hero by obliquityy</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616087">To Be A Hero</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/obliquityy/pseuds/obliquityy'>obliquityy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Gwen (Comics), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Crossover, F/M, Mystery, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:49:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/obliquityy/pseuds/obliquityy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen Stacy was special.</p><p>At only fourteen years old, she became the one and only Ghost-Spider, saving people from thieves and crooks in the sometimes shady city of Chicago. After a rescue mission goes wrong and places Gwen in imminent danger with a local gang, she does the only thing left she can do. </p><p>She tells her parents the truth.</p><p>Wanting a fresh start for their daughter, Gwen's parents pack up their life and agree not to punish Gwen harshly, under the condition that she gives up her alter ego, for good.</p><p>Gwen Stacy thought she was special, until she moved to New York and learned that she actually wasn't. Because there's another Spider-person in the city, and she's going to find out who they are.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Gwen Stacy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 00: "i'm no kid genius"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A school field trip to the Museum of Science and Industry didn't seem like a life changing outing to me. Of course, I would be proved wrong later that day. But, no matter. We'll get to that, eventually.</p><p>The school buses carrying the 9th graders of Lincoln Park High School were old and dingy, with fraying vinyl seats and an abundant amount of gum stuck to various surfaces. The sky was overcast, raining on and off all day, no doubt dampening my already bad mood from being dragged to a museum where I was sure I'd learn nothing new. The roads on this side of Chicago needed some serious TLC; I couldn't lean my head on the windowsill without getting a concussion from the bus bouncing over several potholes. </p><p>Also, one of my earbuds busted, and one wasn't enough to drown out the fifty kids surrounding me, talking all at once. </p><p>Maybe we'd meet some scientists, see some pictures of dinosaur bones discovered over the latest century, and have lunch outside - unless of course it started to rain again. But I had my doubts, and I knew nothing I saw today would interest me, unless it was pertaining to physics or quantum mechanics.</p><p>I know what you're thinking.  A fourteen year old talking about quantum mechanics and physics must be a child prodigy, right? Wrong. I just had my interests narrowed down to a tee. I'm not saying I wasn't gifted in the science department. It was definitely my best subject, but I was no kid genius. </p><p>The buses arrived at the museum a little after 9 AM, and everyone piled off to find their friends as I was the last person to step down onto the pavement. Our tour guide greeted the 9th grade class on the steps of the front doors to the building, and I straggled to the back of the group with the teachers. I could already tell it was going to be a long day.</p><p>If it's not obvious to you now, I'll spell it out for you: I was a loser. </p><p>I didn't have friends; I didn't need them. Relying on others only resulted in disappointment. It's a grim outlook for a fourteen year old to possess, but it saved me a lot of trouble and heartache that I otherwise would have had, had I opened up and drop the cold exterior with strangers. I watched friendships form and fall apart throughout my years of being an observer during school hours. I didn't need all of those unnecessary burdens when I had enough to worry about, like homework, for instance. </p><p>Kids tried to include me, and I'm grateful for the effort. I just wished they would have extended the effort towards someone who wanted the attention. Once everyone my age figured out that I would rather be alone, being alone became easy. Sometimes, it was almost too easy.</p><p>Walking through the halls, listening to the tour guide explain such mundane subjects that I didn't care about made time slow to a crawl. I wasn't the only one, though; No one else seemed to be listening to what she was talking about. It had been a long day of following her around the museum, and some of us would rather be sitting in a desk right now. </p><p>My interest was peaked, however, when we reached the final part of the tour: The Wildlife facility. There was a glass dome over the center of the large room, and all sorts of plants were growing up the walls. The many sections of the room overwhelmed me, and I wished we'd spent the whole day there. </p><p>I don't know how long she had been talking as I was gawking, but I started listening intently when I heard the word, "spiders." To this day, I can't explain why I was so interested in these spiders. I felt drawn to them. They weren't ordinary spiders, I'd learned they were experimental subjects. Whether it was experimentation through chemicals, radiation, or something else, I did not know. I just wanted to see one. </p><p>My fellow classmates weren't particularly interested in the spiders, and usually I wouldn't have been, either. But the sudden interest in them can't be described by anything other than one word: Fate.</p><p>As the group moved on to another display, I stayed behind to get a good look at the spiders. In hindsight, it was pretty dumb for so many adults to leave a kid alone with a scientific display. It was so dumb, the event almost seemed cosmic, or meant-to-be. I just wouldn't realize it until a year later, when I learned of another 14 year old kid getting bitten by a spider, in a museum, on a field trip, halfway across the country.</p><p>You all know what happened next. I'll spare you the details of waking up the next day with muscles I never knew were possible to have, suddenly perfect eyesight causing me to no longer need my glasses, and of course, the ability to climb walls. We've all heard the story too many times. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 01: "i'm a walking stereotype"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gwen decides her appearance is in need of an update before starting her new life in New York.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A bathroom mirror. Scissors. A box of red hair dye.</p>
<p>I looked at myself in the mirror, scrutinizing every minor detail I could find wrong.</p>
<p>You have too many freckles. Your eyebrows are too thin, why did you pluck them to death in middle school? The scar from your first fight is ugly. Why is your mouth permanently shaped into a frown?</p>
<p>I was so unbelievably plain.</p>
<p>My first day of school at Midtown was tomorrow, and no one needed another blonde hair, blue-eyed shell of a person in their life. I was a walking stereotype, for crying out loud.</p>
<p>As I inhaled deeply, I thought again if this is really what I wanted. The haircut would be okay, but the red tips would not go over well with my parents. Such a drastic change would have consequences, therefore it had to be worth it if I was going to do this. I huffed, puffing out my lips for dramatic effect.</p>
<p>My own bathroom was old, but it wasn't necessarily dirty. The mirror  had some scratches and there was evidence of chipping on the edge of the ceramic sink. The shower had water stains in various places and the white tile of the bathroom seemed discolored from years of dirty feet trudging across it. Even the walls were tile, which made me believe that the walls had recently been remodeled. </p>
<p>Screw what my parents think, I deserve this.</p>
<p>I'd watched enough YouTube tutorial videos and practiced on enough wigs to know how to do this. I had been thinking about doing it for months, and I felt like now would be the perfect time.</p>
<p>A new image, a new me before I started a new school. Hopefully, I could pull off a new attitude: One less aloof and withdrawn.  A new me, without Ghost-Spider.</p>
<p>My costume stayed safely tucked outside of the lining of my duffel bag, sufficiently hidden for now. I didn't have the heart to unpack it, fearing that if I saw the costume, I'd want to put it on again. And I couldn't break that promise to myself. No more Ghost-Spider. I was done.</p>
<p>Sighing, I gathered my hair into three perfect sections and tied them, creating three separate pony tails. I'd done this at least 15 times on a wig, making sure to use a handheld mirror to section my hair precisely with a comb. Next came the hard part. As I took a deep breath, holding it in, I snipped the scissors over the first pony tail. The other two came easier, but that first one was the hardest to cut. As I cleaned up the unevenness, giving myself choppy layers to help give my hair more dimension, I wondered if I just made a huge mistake.</p>
<p>I didn't have too long to dwell on it as I grabbed the box of red hair dye. After mixing the dye, I applied it to the ends of my newly short hair, giving it a dip-dye effect. The t-shirt I was wearing was effectively ruined with red stains dotting the shoulders.</p>
<p>After waiting thirty minutes, like the box suggested, I jumped into the shower to wash the rest of the hair dye and any excess hair clippings from my previous haircut away. When I started drying my hair and seeing the new me unfold, I started to like it even more. For once, I felt like I looked like me.</p>
<p>My hair, now shoulder length with a slight wave and red tips portrayed the me I've always felt inside. However, something felt missing. Something bolder, something edgy. A thought appeared in my head, something I'd always wanted to do, but refrained from fear of my parents' wrath. I turned around to glance, again, at the bag that held my other identity. A pang of grief struck my heart and my breath hitched.</p>
<p>I took a leap of faith as I got dressed, grabbed my jacket and climbed down the fire escape.</p>
<p>🕷🕷🕷</p>
<p>I stood outside of the sketchiest tattoo and piercing parlor I could find.</p>
<p>It was cold as hell outside, much colder than Chicago, and I wondered if I'd ever be able to adapt to the weather. I could see my breath when I exhaled, and I didn't even think to bring gloves, or a beanie. I hadn't even been in New York for twenty-four hours and I was already complaining. This city was going to swallow me whole. </p>
<p>I already felt like I'd been swallowed whole. The buildings that towered over my head seemed miles high, and the whole area felt congested as I fought to stay on the sidewalk through crowds of people. I didn't have much luck, though; People were pushing me aside as if I were invisible. I had always heard that one must have a certain mentality to survive in New York, but I never believed it until now. </p>
<p>I glanced at the small shop on the corner with the words, "Lenny's Tattoos and Piercings," above the door. The way I figured, the worse the place looked, the less likely they would I.D. me. This didn't seem like the kind of place that would turn down business, no matter how illegal it was. Besides, I was only 15 years old, but I knew I could look older if I tried. Call it street smarts, but I learned a lot as Ghost-Spider. Playing people just happened to be one of those things.</p>
<p>I took a deep breath and sauntered into the parlor with as much confidence as I could exert, attempting to hide how nervous I was. The only piercing I'd ever had were my ears, and that was done when I was only a baby. As soon as I stepped in the door, I smelled rubbing alcohol and cigarettes. The place was relatively clean, which made me feel a little better, but it also looked old. What if they used a makeshift stapler to put a hole in my face?</p>
<p>The guy at the front counter, who was obviously also a tattoo artist, glanced at me through his sunglasses (That he was wearing inside. What a maniac!). Every piece of visible skin was covered by a tattoo, even his bald head, and his long beard had been braided. He also had lots of piercings dotting his nose, eyebrows, lips, and ears. Maybe he was experienced, although I doubted he had pierced his own lip. Before he could say a word, whether it was a greeting or a command to get out of his shop until I was of age, I'll never know, I stated, sternly, "I'd like a nose and eyebrow piercing, please."</p>
<p>The man inhaled slowly before he took off his sunglasses and tossed them on the counter. Surprisingly, he had bright blue eyes and I briefly wondered why he covered them with ugly sunglasses. After he scrutinized my appearance for what felt like a full minute, probably ultimately deciding if I was worth the trouble or not, his low voice said, "$150. You good with needles?"</p>
<p>I nodded vehemently, counting and giving over my money from babysitting over the past two years. Watching those little Upton brats came in handy after all, I supposed.</p>
<p>After he counted my bills, he motioned for me to follow him into the back. Designs and original drawings adorned the walls of the parlor as other artists were busy tattooing clients. None of them looked like they were in too much pain, save for a girl who couldn't be any older than me getting a bird tattooed on the back of her neck. She didn't seem like she was taking it well. I walked past them until we reached the back chair, and the station around it contained so many different sized needles and piercing guns, I thought I would faint.</p>
<p>He must have noticed the color draining from my face, because the man chuckled and asked, "You got a Xanax? You look like you could use one right now."</p>
<p>I shook my head at him and continued to stare straight ahead. He knew how old I was; He had to know. I was sure he was going to tell me to get the hell out of his sight, but instead he said, "Well? You just going to stand there? I don't have all day," and gestured toward the chair. </p>
<p>🕷🕷🕷</p>
<p>I was a master at sneaking in and out of my room. It was a known fact. Just ask my parents.</p>
<p>I could crawl in and out of the window as silently as possible without making a noise whatsoever. But honestly, I would have considered that as using my powers, and that would be cheating. So without consciously using any of my abilities, I still managed to slip in unnoticed. I assumed my parents were already asleep since I couldn't hear any shuffling downstairs, so I was in the clear about my hair and the holes in my face until tomorrow morning, where I could use school as an excuse to escape.</p>
<p>I turned on the light to my bathroom and looked in the mirror at my new persona. The small hoop through my right nostril and the stud on my left brow bone definitely added character, and I thought they were cute. The first genuine smile I had since leaving Chicago appeared on my face. I tried to raise my eyebrows, but the soreness was too much. The skin around the areas were red from irritation, but hopefully that would calm down by tomorrow morning. I had more important things to focus on.</p>
<p>I grabbed my makeup bag and spent an hour watching YouTube tutorials on how to perfect the bold cat eye eyeliner. Once I felt like I got the hang of it, I decided to stop avoiding the inevitable.</p>
<p>My duffel bag sat perched on the foot of my bed, untouched since we had reached the condo. I didn't have the heart to see the costume until now, but I thought I had enough willpower to put it in its rightful place: the garbage.</p>
<p>As I pulled it out of the lining of the bag, I wondered why I still hid the costume. My family knew my secret. That's the whole reason we moved to New York. I screwed up and got myself in too deep with things I couldn't handle. The smartest thing I did was come clean to my dad, however it came with a price.</p>
<p>No more Ghost-Spider.</p>
<p>I felt the material of my white and black hoodie, with a pink and teal spiderweb pattern I had sewn into the inside of the hood. My teal ballet flats were at the bottom of the bag, and I smiled at how worn they were. My mask, with the pink rimmed eyes, looked at me in disappointment. I was giving up on the one thing that made me happiest. Wasn't that wrong? It definitely didn't feel right.</p>
<p>The move was supposed to be a fresh start for all of us, but it was mostly meant for me. I made an agreement with my mom and dad, and I had to hold up my end of the bargain, but looking at the mask of the alter-ego I created one year ago made it so much more difficult. I couldn't bear to give it up yet.</p>
<p>Sighing, I tucked the suit back into the lining of the duffel bag and stored it in the back of my closet. I would do it tomorrow. I had to. I just didn't have the heart tonight.</p>
<p>🕷🕷🕷</p>
<p>Morning came fast, although that may be because I didn't go to sleep until 2 AM.</p>
<p>I forgot to wipe off the eyeliner from last night's practice session, so I just went over it again and cleaned up the edges. I also made sure to cover up as much redness as I could from my new piercings. My hair was still slightly waved from the humidity and I didn't have the energy to do anything else to it. I didn't have anyone to impress, anyway.</p>
<p>I threw on dark, ripped up jeggings and a band tee and grabbed my leather jacket on my way out of the door.</p>
<p>As I trudged downstairs, I braced myself for the shout fest I knew I was going to get.</p>
<p>However, as soon as I descended into the living room, I heard no commotion of breakfast being made by my dad or my mom scampering around, trying to find her other shoe. Instead, I was left with unpacked moving boxes everywhere, and a note on the counter saying they left early to go furniture shopping, and how they couldn't wait to hear about my day when I got home. Also, they loved me very much.</p>
<p>I rolled my eyes playfully as I grabbed a banana and a bottle of orange juice before I walked out of the condo and locked the door behind me.</p>
<p>A ten minute walk to the subway station and a fifteen minute ride later had me standing in front of Midtown High School. It was big, way bigger than my old school. It was a lot nicer, too, even though the building looked kind of old. It was a historic kind of old. I also found it odd that the football field was in front of the school, which couldn't make traffic any better. Everyone seemed to hang out around the front steps of the building, waiting for the first bell to ring, warning them to get to class. I realized that I was analyzing the building because I was too nervous to go inside, so I sucked it up and started walking towards the front doors with my head held high.</p>
<p>I would've continued to walk confidently until I reached the steps if an idiot boy wearing a collared shirt under a navy sweater with headphones in his ears hadn't ran straight into me, knocking me to the side and accidentally hitting my freshly pierced nose ring. I stumbled to the side as he gathered himself and realized what he just did.</p>
<p>As soon as the mistake was made, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. My hand instinctively flew to my nose to make sure that the ring was still there, for some reason. I also couldn't help hissing out a loud, "Shit!" and bowing my head down for good measure. My eyes instinctively watered at the pain, and my mind raced at the thought that this kid would think he made me cry.</p>
<p>"Oh-Oh my God! I am so, so sorry! Are you-are you okay? I so did not mean to hit you! Wait, are-are you crying?" This kid rambled, a lot. He also seemed to have a stuttering problem. I took pity on him.</p>
<p>I waved a hand off, trying to seem like I wasn't completely seething. "No, it's okay. Just a new piercing. It's extremely sore." I tried to smile, but it probably came off as more of a grimace. With my hand still over my nose, I observed him for the first time, knowing he must have been a freshman. He looked too innocent and fragile, which made me feel even worse for being so rude. His brown hair was styled back neatly and he had a large backpack that was almost too full, probably with extra books for advanced classes. He looked intelligent for his age. His worn out converse gave him character, though. Cute kid.</p>
<p>I plastered a smile on my face and genuinely said, "Dude, it's okay. Really. But it's my first day, and I still need to get my schedule from the office. I'll see you around though, yeah?" I gave him a thumbs up for good measure as I walked backwards towards the school, eventually turning around to jog up the steps to the entrance. </p>
<p>🕷🕷🕷</p>
<p>After getting my schedule, a map of the school, and determining that my locker is right next to the bathroom (Ew, gross), I was thirty minutes late to my first class, which was Advanced Biology. I was warned that it was actually a Junior course, so I would most likely be the only Sophomore in the class.</p>
<p>I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the Biology classroom and tried not to look at the thirty people that were probably looking at me. Crowds made me nervous, only if I didn't have the mask on, though. The teacher, an older lady with a sweet smile, read the slip of paper I handed to her before saying, "Class, we have a new student joining us. Oh, she's actually a Sophomore, so please be extra welcoming to her. Her name is Gwendolyn Stacey."</p>
<p>"Oh, actually, I just go by Gwen," I made sure to nip that in the bud, quickly. I couldn't have people calling me Gwendolyn. It would be social suicide. "I really hate my full name," I added, for extra measure.</p>
<p>I realized I had made a mistake, though, because the teacher replied, "My name is Gwendolyn, but you can call me Mrs. Barnett."</p>
<p>I bit my lower lip. Yikes, that was embarrassing. I wanted to crawl under a rock now. My eyes instinctively closed for what felt like forever. I didn't want to see everyone looking at my flaming red face.</p>
<p>"It's okay, dear," she assured me. "Why don't you take a seat next to Mr. Peter Parker, over there in the back. He is the only other Sophomore in this class. You two should stick together. He'll show you the ropes. Won't you, Peter?"</p>
<p>I glanced towards the boy in question, only to realize we had already met. Stuttering, clumsy boy, however, seemed to not have been listening to my social demise in front of the class, because he looked off guard as he stuttered out, "Y-yes, ma'am. I'll be sure to do that." He smiled at me as he tapped his pencil against the desk, and I realized I was wrong about him. </p>
<p>He was not a freshman after all.</p>
<p>As I took a seat next to him, he leaned over, and without looking away from the teacher as she lectured, whispered, "Gwen, huh?" Okay, so he was capable of being normal. "I'm Peter. Peter Parker." He gestured towards himself while he finally looked at me.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I gathered that from her. You really don't pay attention, do you?" I questioned as I unloaded my Biology textbook from my backpack. Peter didn't respond, he just nodded as his Adam's apple bobbed up and back down again. He must not have been used to naturally abrasive people. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry," I spat out. "It's just been a long day." I felt bad for snapping at him. I also wasn't going to make any friends if I walked into the school with my arms swinging. This was a chance for me to fix my previous reputation for being the bitch who didn't need friends. I still didn't need friends, but I wouldn't mind having some. I wasn't totally appalled at the idea of companions anymore.</p>
<p>"It's cool," he breathed and turned to smile at me before he returned his attention to the lecture, and I couldn't help but notice it didn't quite reach his eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>